


Inspiration

by kopycat_101



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adorable Marc Anciel, Awkward Crush, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, Banter, Bi Disaster Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Bisexual Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Boys In Love, Coming Out, Dorks in Love, Flirting, Fluff, Gay Disaster Marc Anciel, Gay Marc Anciel, Getting Together, He also Knows about the boys pining after each other and thinks it's very sweet, He's named Mr. Carracci after the famous Italian Baroque painter bc I am an art nerd, I gave the art teacher an actual name for his cameo, M/M, Male Friendship, Mild swearing bc they're teenagers and teens swear, Mutual Pining, Nathaniel Kurtzberg Has ADHD, No feet apart cuz they're so gay, Pining, Pre-Slash, Romantic Fluff, Slash, Teen Romance, Teenage Dorks, Teenagers, The boys suffer through the Mortifying Deal of Being Known, The inherent homoeroticism for pining over ur best friend and writing about them constantly, The inherent homoeroticism of drawing ur bro lovingly in your sketchbook, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Two bros chilling in the art room, Writer's Block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24603163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopycat_101/pseuds/kopycat_101
Summary: Marc struggles with a bit of writer’s block, while Nathaniel seems perfectly enraptured in drawing something…or someone.Marc’s never had someone draw him before, much less in the way Nathaniel does, with such fervor and careful consideration.To help him out with his own block, Nathaniel decides to give him an inspirational statement to get the creative juices flowing.It doesn’t exactly go as planned. Or maybe it does…?
Relationships: Marc Anciel & Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Marc Anciel/Nathaniel Kurtzberg
Comments: 41
Kudos: 127
Collections: MarcNath Fics!





	Inspiration

**Author's Note:**

> Me, walking in and dropping a NathMarc one-shot that's nearly 6k for Miraculous Pride Month: Sup. Gay rights.
> 
> Anyways, I wrote this in a fugue state. I might have other oneshots also in the works. Drop a comment if you're interested in that?
> 
> As for the timeline for this fic, idk when this takes place. But it should be a few months or so into their friendship, when they're both comfortable enough to banter this much with each other.

* * *

It’s been a long day. But instead of feeling tired, Marc feels restless, and strangely energized.

After all, the absolute favorite part of his day happens after school.

Once the final bell chimes, Marc instantly stuffs his notebook in his bag with lightning speed. He gives a little wave to some of his friends in class, before he quickly makes his way out of Ms. Mendeleiev’s class and down the hall.

He and Nathaniel were going to meet up to work on their comic. They always met up Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and today was Friday. Though, as of late, they were spending nearly every day of the school week together. To work on their comic, of course. But more and more often, they just…hung out. And talked.

A solid half the time, they went wildly off-topic and didn’t even _touch_ their comic. And while normally the two of them weren’t much for talking, when together, they could chatter up a storm.

Marc’s pretty sure they’ve re-treaded The Great Sailor Moon Debate at least a dozen times already—in which Nathaniel firmly believed the 90’s anime was the greatest version of the source material, while Marc defended the Crystal reboot for it’s better writing. Nathaniel would playfully call Marc a heathen, while Marc would retort with Nath being nostalgia blind. Then the two would get locked in a stalemate, and finally admit that Madoka Magica was better anyways. Rinse and repeat.

It was just…so _easy_ to talk to Nathaniel. Even when Marc would get flustered and stutter out a mess, because of his stupid crush flaring up, Nathaniel wouldn’t judge him. He’d wait patiently for Marc to finally get a halfway cohesive sentence out, absorb it, give it his full consideration, and then take the conversation from there.

It helped that the two of them were on the introverted and shy side, knowing when to talk and when it was just enough to sit quietly side-by-side. They both had similar interests and passion driving them. They sort of…clicked. Understood each other in a way they didn’t with others. They _got_ each other.

It’s the biggest reason why Marc enjoyed spending time with Nathaniel. Though his crush undeniably played a part in it…

Marc startled, running into the doorway of the art class slightly. He didn’t do it very hard—just barely clipped his shoulder against the arch—but he still jumped a foot in the air and yelped.

“You okay…?” a voice asks, warm and familiar.

Marc feels himself flush. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” he gets out, with a bashful laugh, rubbing slightly at his shoulder. He looks down at an amused Nathaniel, who’s half-hanging out of the doorway, having managed to get to the room before Marc.

“Lost in thought?” the redhead asks, jerking his head to move his bangs out of face.

“Sort of?” Marc offers, hitching his bag further up his shoulder and following in-step with Nathaniel over to their usual table in the Art Club.

The place was empty, which was a surprise. They had Art Club on Wednesdays, sure, which was when the art room was the busiest. But their teacher always encouraged students to work on projects in the room if they wanted, so usually there would always be at least _one_ person in here.

It was nice, though, having the room all to themselves. Marc certainly wasn’t complaining.

“Thinking up new ideas for the comic?” Nathaniel asks, sitting in his normal spot, Marc sliding in next to him on the left, as was per usual.

Marc lets out a long groan. “Not really…I’ve sort of reached a…a writing block, actually,” he admits while threading a hand through his hair, feeling just a bit ashamed.

“That’s rough, buddy,” Nathaniel says sympathetically, but there’s a playful lilt to his smile that catches Marc’s attention.

Marc pauses, and considers, his eyes narrowing as he looks over at the other boy. “…Was that a reference?”

“Dunno. Is it?” Nathaniel asks, much too innocently.

“It _is_ , isn’t it,” Marc says, more statement than question, levelling a finger at Nathaniel. Who is looking all the more amused with the way Marc’s challenging him. “Which anime?”

“I can’t believe you instantly jump to anime. I don’t _always_ make anime references,” the redhead huffs, voice just shy of a whine.

“Cartoon then,” Marc decides. “It doesn’t sound like something from comics, or comic-related.”

“I mean. You’re not _wrong_ , exactly…”

He tilts his head, taps his fingers against the table. “Is it something I’ve watched…?”

“Well, I mean, I’d _hope_ you’ve watched it,” Nathaniel starts, voice turning teasing. “Or else I might just revoke our friendship.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he chides, but not seriously at all, bumping their shoulders together with a roll of his eyes. “Just say it’s Avatar and go, you drama queen.”

“Ding ding ding, we have a winner,” Nathaniel mimes speaking into a microphone, holding his pencil up to his mouth like a complete dork. “Local writer gets cartoon reference, more at nine.”

“Dork,” Marc snorts, giggling.

“I’m not a dork,” Nathaniel states, shoving Marc playfully. “ _You’re_ the dork.”

Marc feels his grin widen. “Yes, because _I’m_ the one that quotes things like a total dork on the reg…”

Nathaniel gasps, shoving at Marc’s shoulder again. “Shut up! You do that all the time!” he sputters, indignant.

“I really don’t.”

“You quote Shakespeare!”

“Nath,” Marc starts, putting a hand on his shoulder, giving him the snootiest look possible. “ _All_ writers quote Shakespeare. Keep up.”

“Go and quote your Shakespeare, then,” Nathaniel says, dramatically rolling his eyes and shrugging Marc’s hand off his shoulder. “Maybe writing a soliloquy will help with your writer’s block, or something.”

“You know, that might not be a bad idea…” he admits, before scratching at his temple and smiling sheepishly. “But I don’t think I’ve ever actually learned how to write one.”

“I mean, that’s fair,” Nathaniel laughs, nudging him playfully with the eraser of his pencil. “Writing like Shakespeare is _bonkers_. Poetry’s already complicated as it is.”

“How is poetry complicated? You can literally write anything as a poem.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” the redhead nods sagely. “You can write _anything_. That’s _way_ too many possibilities.”

“You know what? Fair.”

The two grinned at each other for a few long seconds, only broken by the door opening. Marc jolts in his seat, whipping his gaze away guiltily from staring into Nathaniel’s pretty blue eyes. He’d always had a habit of getting lost in them, if he wasn’t careful.

Mr. Carracci blinks back at them for a few seconds, before smiling softly. “Oh! Hello there, boys. Just about to head out, so I came to grab my things.”

“Do you need any help, Mister?” Nathaniel offers, already half-out of his seat, the art teacher waving him away.

“No, no, I’m quite alright. You boys just sit and keep doing whatever you were doing before. Don’t mind me,” the older gentleman tells them warmly, already crossing the room to his desk at the very back. “Just remember to close the door on your way out when you’re done, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” Marc and Nathaniel chime together, relaxing in their seats once more.

The two share a look, grinning slightly, before they open their bags and start to riffle through for their materials.

Marc cracks open his notebook, staring down at the page full of scribbles. He huffs, cracks his knuckles, and picks up his pen.

* * *

A solid ten minutes pass, and nothing new is on the page. At least, nothing that hasn’t been instantly scribbled out in a fit of frustration.

Marc tries to sigh quietly so he doesn’t disturb his partner. Tapping his pen against his lips restlessly, he glares down at his notebook like it’s done him a personal offense.

Nothing comes out right. It all sounds…dumb. And clunky. And unrealistic. His prose is all out of sorts, too.

Nothing is up to snuff. It’s _frustrating_.

By the time Mr. Carracci is telling them goodbye, Nathaniel is already drawing furiously in his sketchbook. He’s so laser-focused, he only pauses to wave slightly at the teacher because Marc poked him in the shoulder and hissed at him to be polite.

Marc is the one that wishes the man goodbye properly, actually speaking and acknowledging him. “Goodnight, Mr. Carracci! I hope you get home safely.”

“You boys as well.” The art teacher smiles at them, warmly amused, and a bit… _knowing_ , almost.

What he knows, Marc isn’t sure. But the sheer paternal energy from the man is almost comforting, when Marc gestures at Nathaniel with an apologetic smile, and Mr. Carracci nods back, eyes glittering in understanding.

The man leaves like he’d arrived: quiet and gentle, like a sweet Spring breeze.

Deciding he’s probably had enough of a break, Marc turns back to the daunting pages of his notebook.

* * *

He can’t do it.

Marc feels the distinct need to slam his head against the desk, but _just_ manages to keep himself from doing it. He doesn’t want to startle Nathaniel out of his muse. If he makes a ruckus, it might ruin his drawing.

Speaking of drawing…

Marc can’t help but be curious, leaning slightly over to look at what the redhead has been so perfectly enraptured with the past few minutes.

He blinks. And then rubs at one of his eyes, thinking maybe he wasn’t seeing things correctly.

He’s not, though. Seeing things. Because what Nathaniel is drawing is… him?

It’s of Marc hunching over his notebook, pen against his lips, looking frustrated.

It’s a nice drawing. The proportions are all there, the expression is spot-on, and Nathaniel’s even in the process of shading it.

The only things that seem slightly off are Marc’s eyes and lips. His eyes look like they have more lashes than an old-school shoujo manga character, and his lips look way plumper than they are.

And—is that a little heart next to the pen pressed against his lips…? Or is that just some sort of accidental stray mark?

As Marc tries to puzzle that out, his heart thrumming in his chest quite suddenly, Nathaniel’s pencil stops moving. The lack of familiar scratching against the page throws the room into an eerie silence, for all of three seconds, before the sound of Nathaniel nearly choking on his spit replaces it.

The redhead all but lunges forwards, bodily covering his sketchbook, looking back at him with the exact same look of a deer caught in headlights.

Marc leans back and shuffles into his spot, face warming as he realizes he’d all but draped himself over Nathaniel to watch him draw.

Not just draw anything, either. Draw _him_.

“S-Sorry,” he stutters out, tripping over his own tongue. “I-I didn’t mean. I just. Um?”

He clicks his mouth shut, finding that words weren’t doing him any good. Nathaniel is staring at him with an expression of pure mortification, face steadily turning as red as his hair.

And then the other boy laughs, strangled and high-strung, and just this side of hysterical. “I-I-It’s fine!” Nathaniel squeaks out, voice jumping an octave.

The two stare at each other for a painfully drawn-out moment.

“I, uh…P-Probably should’ve asked to watch you,” Marc admits, tugging self-consciously at a section of his messy hair. “Sorry.”

“N-no, no, it’s…Fine,” Nathaniel says with an awkward laugh, still hunched protectively over his sketchbook, eyes darting about the room instead of looking at Marc. Like a cornered animal.

Another pause.

“I-I, ah. Should’ve asked. T-To draw you,” the redhead says, slowly and haltingly, gaze now firmly on the wood-grain of the table, like it’s the most riveting thing in the world. He taps his pencil restlessly on the tabletop. “Sorry. S’probably creepy…”

“No, no, not at all!” Marc yelps, quickly waving his hands in front of himself. “It’s great! I-I mean. I’ve…never had anyone draw me, b-before, and…And you did an amazing job, so…”

Nathaniel takes a deep breath, seemingly steeling himself, before he peers up at Marc cautiously. He’s hiding behind his hair, in that way he does when he’s embarrassed or shy, but his uncovered eye gleams bright under the florescent lights.

“Y-you, um. You really think so…?” the redhead asks softly, almost _disbelieving_ , and Marc nods his head so fast he feels like an enthusiastic bobblehead.

“Mhm! It’s _amazing_ ,” he says emphatically, with a bit too much feeling. Instead of looking weirded out, though, the other boy’s lips upturn into a lopsided smile. “I mean, I’ve always known you can draw people really well, considering our comic being based on actual real-life people? But, I guess it’s sort of…different? Seeing myself being drawn. It’s like seeing myself from your eyes, you know? It’s something wholly unique.”

He knows he’s gushing and rambling, but he can’t _help_ it. Nathaniel’s art… It’s always been amazing, and it always manages to get Marc to wax poetic over it.

It’s just even more amazing to see himself in Nathaniel’s sketchbook, as a realized drawing, something so obviously bursting with energy and care. With both enthusiasm and careful consideration, somehow perfectly harmonious.

“Are you sure you’re not just saying all that to butter me up…?” Nathaniel finally says, smile widening, stretching out his pink cheeks.

Marc blinks back at him, taken aback and confused. “But…I always compliment your art?”

“Yeah. I know,” Nathaniel starts, chuckling breathlessly. “But, I mean…Most people compliment my art to get me to draw them, y’know.”

“I wouldn’t do that!” Marc retorts instantly, scandalized. “All artists deserve compensation for their work! I’d never do that to you, Nath. D-do you think I’d do that? Because I wouldn’t.” The redhead raises an incredulous brow at him, and Marc presses, firm. “I _wouldn’t_.”

Nathaniel stares at him for three seconds, brow still raised, before he bursts into laughter.

“S-sorry! Sorry! I’m not,” he wheezes through his giggles. “I’m not laughing at you, I s-swear. Okay?”

Marc feels…just a bit lost. “O…kay?

“Look, I know. I know you wouldn’t do that. It’s just,” Nathaniel sighs, shaking his head, the movement causing his long bangs to swish in front of his face. He takes a second to tug them behind his ear, smiling that crooked smile of his, making Marc’s heart skip a beat. “I wanted to tease you a little. I know you’d never use me like that, Marc.”

The earnestness in his voice, the openness of his expressions, they’re as easy to read as a book. The catalogue of Nathaniel’s expressions is Marc’s favorite book, actually, no matter how weird and cheesy that sounds.

“I just…I guess I didn’t want you to get your hopes up or anything, of me drawing you,” Nathaniel says slowly, seemingly picking his words carefully. He taps his pencil against the table rapidly, a nervous _tap-tap-tap_. “I only really draw what catches my attention or inspires me. It’s a bit harder to draw on-command…”

“Right. That makes sense,” Marc notes aloud, fiddling with his choker as he realizes just how _similar_ both their creative processes actually are. It’s no wonder they worked well together. “It’s…actually sort of the same with me and my writing.”

“Yeah?” the other asks, pencil stalling.

“Yeah,” Marc nods. He pauses, bites his lip. “I mean, when I don’t have writer’s block, of course.”

It’s a lame thing to say, a total cop-out. But it’s not like Marc can just _tell_ him. Tell Nathaniel point-blank that _he’s_ what inspires Marc to write, the most out of any possible subject in the world. Including Ladybug and Chat Noir, the literal subjects of their comics.

Because Marc means it in a totally non-platonic sense; that Nathaniel inspires Marc to write with all of his heart. And it would be hard to explain away as it being in a ‘friend way’.

So, he’d rather not explain it at all. Like a coward.

In spite of his total lameness, though, Nathaniel grins back at him. “Is that why you’ve been just sitting there this whole time…?”

Marc sighs, long and loud, and gently thunks his head on the table. “Yes,” he says shamefully, voice muffled slightly against the wooden surface.

Nathaniel laughs, a bright and loud sound that makes Marc’s heart squeeze in his chest.

“Ah, alright then. That makes sense,” he snickers, voice warm and teasing. “Guess I have your writer’s block to thank, then, for helping me with my own art block.”

Marc’s heart takes the time to do a bout of gymnastics, and he turns his head to the side to peer over at the other boy. “Wait. What? _How_?”

Nathaniel smiles back at him crookedly, tapping his pencil in a jaunty rhythm that sounds vaguely familiar. Maybe a video game song. “I couldn’t figure out what to draw, but I looked over and saw you looking so pent-up and frustrated, it sort of made for a good drawing.”

Marc stares at him, taken aback. The other rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “And I mean, you were sitting there so still…You made the perfect model, actually.”

Marc snorts, completely disbelieving. “You mean to tell me that me being stuck in a writer’s block _actually solved your art block?_ ” he demands, sitting up and turning his body towards his friend, who simply looks bemused. “How’s that even fair?!”

“Dunno,” the redhead says with a chirp and a shrug, a shit-eating grin unfurling on his face. “But I’m not complaining.”

“Well—Well _I_ am!” Marc sputters out, levelling a finger at Nathaniel’s face. The other boy goes cross-eyed to look at his judgmental digit. Marc lets out a disbelieving laugh, “I ended up being _your_ inspiration, and I’m still suffering over here…!”

“Alright, alright,” Nathaniel says, gently batting Marc’s finger away. His voice is placating, but his smile was still a bit too wide in his mouth for Marc to believe. “I mean, you were a big help, being my model and all. So, use me as your inspiration, if you want.”

* * *

Marc’s mind stalls, “ _So, use me as your inspiration, if you want_ ” echoing on repeat.

It’s a flippant statement, but it still makes Marc’s face burn. He sputters, stuttering.

“Th-th-that’s not h-how it works!” he manages to choke out after a longer-than-necessary pause, turning and snatching up his notebook, hugging it against his chest and curling himself around it.

A sudden sense of deja vu hits him like a bullet. It’s almost like when he first met Nathaniel, hopelessly crushing and too much of a shy mess to show him his writing.

He’s still hopelessly crushing _now_ , but he’s also loosened enough and gotten enough confidence that he can show the other boy his writing, his passion.

But as he uncurls himself from shielding his notebook, it’s already too late.

The smile on Nathaniel’s face has dropped, the playfulness gone. Instead, his face shutters, replaced with an awkward grimace.

“Right. You’re right,” Nathaniel says stiffly, voice incredibly hard to read, but there’s unmistakable hurt in his eyes. He ducks his head, his bangs jostled from behind his ear, falling in front of his face in a fiery curtain to shield it once more. “I mean, you can’t write if someone’s forcing you… And it’s not like I’m an interesting subject, anyways. I wouldn’t make for good inspiration at all.”

“Th-that’s not true!” Marc snaps, without thought. The other boy jerks his head up, staring at him in shock. “You’re plenty interesting, Nathaniel! I’ve written about you before!”

Oh.

Oh _no_.

He did _not_ mean to say that last part.

Nathaniel’s blue eyes are wide and gleaming like the sun glinting off the sea’s waves, staring soulfully at him, blue locking with green.

The moment stretches between them. Marc holds his breath. Or, more accurately, the breath feels like it’s been sucked straight from his lungs.

“You have…?” Nathaniel asks, voice soft. _Awed_ , almost. He leans forwards, and Marc barely keeps himself from flinching backwards, stiffening in his seat. The other boy carefully places his fingers against the cover of the notebook still clutched to his chest, fingers splaying out to press his palm against the cover.

A siren blares in Marc’s scrambled and panicked mind, sounding suspiciously like the Kill Bill siren. Nathaniel is touching his chest. There’s his notebook in the way, of course, but. Nathaniel is _touching his chest_.

Marc feels like he’s going to pass out. Whether from shock, blushing too hard, or not being able to breathe, he’s not sure. Maybe all three at once.

“Have you written about me in your notebook…?” Nathaniel asks wonderingly, dropping his gaze at the notebook in question, tapping a rhythm against the cover. Marc gulps thickly when the redhead looks back up at him, blue eye searching, lips slightly parted and looking _very_ kissable right now.

“ _Pull yourself together, Marc_ ,” he hisses to himself in his mind. “ _Do **not** kiss the boy_.”

“S-s-sometimes,” he manages to choke out, voice squeaky, watching as Nathaniel’s eye widens and _gleams_. He averts his gaze, nervous and overwhelmed, clearing his throat. It doesn’t help his stutter. “W-when I c-c-can’t think of c-comic stuff.”

It’s a half-truth at best—barely truthful at all—because Marc pretty much _exclusively_ writes about Nathaniel when he’s not working on their comic. Hell, he writes about Nathaniel even when he’s technically not writing about Nathaniel. Every romantic bone in his body, every scrap of adoration, is fueled through the dialogue he writes between Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Everyone’s praised their comics for having such realistic dialogue and fantastic chemistry between the main characters. What no one else realizes is that Marc pretty much writes everything ripped straight from talking to Nathaniel in real life, or from his own lovesick fantasies of what he _wishes_ Nathaniel would say to him.

His sorry excuse for a half-baked half-truth is all Marc can come up with to not blurt out a full confession then and there and ruin _everything_.

“Can I read some of it…?” Nathaniel asks, voice thick with excitement and something else Marc can’t exactly name.

“ _Fuck_ no,” he thinks frantically and emphatically. “That’s embarrassing!”

The other boy bursts into raucous laughter, finally leaning out of Marc’s space, and the realization dawns that _he just said that out loud_.

God damn it.

Nathaniel’s head is thrown back as he laughs, the pale column of his neck on display and _definitely_ the next thing about Nathaniel that will star in Marc’s future daydreams. Good _Lord_. He’s _such_ a disaster, and Nathaniel has an _unfairly_ nice neck.

Wait. That’s weird to think, right…? What is he, a _vampire_?!

Marc groans loudly and buries his burning face in his hands, no doubt red up to his ears.

“Kill me now,” he whines, while Nathaniel seems to laugh even louder. “ _Please_.”

It takes Nathaniel a full twenty seconds before he manages to get himself somewhat under control. “B-But if you do, who’ll w-w-write about me?” he snorts, falling back into his laughing fit.

“Oh, I’ll write about you alright,” Marc says darkly, feeling mortified beyond belief, peeking between his gloved fingers to glare at his partner. “I’ll write your _eulogy_.”

“I-I’d be down,” the redhead wheezes out, clapping a hand on Marc’s shoulder. He wipes the tears of mirth from his eyes with the other hand, smiling wide. “I’m s-sure you’d write a bitchin’ eulogy.” He perks up. “Actually, maybe we could have that in our comic at some point! One of the heroes could fake their own death or something.”

“Sure, w-we can pull a Sherlock later,” Marc sighs, rubbing his face, the embarrassment barely receding. His cheeks still burn like a furnace beneath his fingertips; the pros of wearing fingerless gloves, he supposes.

Nathaniel squeezes his shoulder and jostles it playfully. “Hey, maybe you can write that scenario up for a future issue? It might be fun to see if we can fit it in later, and it’ll get you writing again!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll try it,” he groans, passing an irate hand through his hair, tugging at the dark strands. “Please stop man-handling me…”

“Sorry, sorry, it was for motivation’s sake,” Nathaniel jokes, but quickly lets his hand drop from Marc’s shoulder, respectful to a fault.

“It was hardly motivational…”

“No, I’m pretty sure it was.”

Marc levels him a flat look. Probably not as effective with a pink face, but. An attempt was made.

Nathaniel raises his hands in a placating motion, the motion decidedly cheeky when paired with the mischievous curl of his lips. “Alright, how about this? I try and tell you one last thing to inspire you to write. After that, I’ll leave you to it, ‘kay?”

Marc can’t help but feel a bit suspicious, raising a pointed brow at the other’s suggestion. “Really…?”

“Really,” the redhead nods.

“And this’ll be an actual inspirational statement…?”

“Hm. Well.” A pause. “I’d hope so?”

“Hmmmmm,” Marc hums, tapping at his chin. “I guess that’d be fine?”

So long as it was something to help distract Nathaniel from his huge slip-up, he was down for it.

“If you’re going to quote an anime theme song at me, I might reconsider, though,” Marc says in teasing warning, lips twitching into a grin.

The other pouts spectacularly at him, and Marc fights down a giggle at how ridiculously adorable he looks. “Ye of so little faith, Marc. Maybe I won’t say it after all—”

“No, no, please! Don’t stop because of me,” he says, giggling a bit and setting his notebook aside, carefully closed. “I’m all ears. Really.”

“Alright,” Nathaniel drawls out, blue eyes glittering.

And then he’s leaning in again, one arm propped on the table for balance, before Marc can say another word.

Nathaniel has a boyish grin on his face, lopsided and toothy, eyes half-lidded and piercing. It’s confident—bordering on _flirtatious_ —an expression that seems nearly uncharacteristic for someone like Nathaniel.

But he makes it work. Oh, does he make it work.

Marc’s face feels like it’s on fire, and his heart is back doing some complicated gymnastics routine. There’s about a foot of space between them, and the distance is steadily diminishing as Nathaniel leans in, closer and closer.

Marc’s breath stutters out, sounding shallow to his own ears, while his pulse skyrockets.

They’re nearly nose-to-nose by the time Marc wonders if he should be closing his eyes or not—because this is a kiss, right? How can it be anything else?—and then Nathaniel completely diverts his course.

Nathaniel’s silky hair flutters and brushes just slightly against the side of Marc’s cheek. He can _feel_ the other’s breath puffing against his ear, and fights down a full-body shiver, nerves alighting all at once.

The redhead whispers right in Marc’s ear, “Start writing, or you’re straight.”

Marc sputters and wheezes, rearing his head back, feeling like Nathaniel had decided to sock him in the stomach instead of whatever the hell _that_ was.

He gapes, mouth working frantically and only spilling out stuttered gibberish.

Nathaniel waits him out for a full five seconds, eyes bright, before he starts to snicker.

“ _N-Nathaniel_ ,” he ends up whisper-yelling through a wheeze, which only sets off the boy in question. He finally backs away from Marc, out of his personal space, and starts cackling.

“I—Why—I c-can’t _believe_ you,” he hisses, swatting at Nathaniel, who seems to cackle even harder. The redhead only makes a minimal effort to shield himself, too caught up in his mirth.

“S-s- _straight Marc_ ,” wheezes the redhead through his laughter, tears streaming down his face, his voice no longer capable of forming words afterwards.

“H-How _dare_ you. I’m a proud heterophobe—” Nathaniel doubles over, clutching at his stomach. “—a-and I will _not_ stand for this forced straight narrative.”

The other boy nearly falls off the bench. Marc—because he is a good friend, who cares for his dumbass friend-slash-crush-slash-tester of his patience—reaches out and catches him before he faceplants on the Art Club’s dirty and paint-splattered floor.

Nathaniel clutches at Marc’s token red hoodie, still absolutely _hysterical_.

“P-p- _proud heterophobe_!” he parrots back, planting his face on Marc’s shoulder.

“I was born Assigned Heterophobe At Birth,” Marc says, quite seriously, only to get a loud laugh all but in his ear in answer, for his troubles.

* * *

It ends up taking Nathaniel a good four minutes straight (hah) in order to calm down. Every time he seemed to calm down a bit, one look at Marc’s flat and judgmental look, and he’d rev up all over again.

He’s been laugh-crying so hard, even snot was leaking out his nose. Nathaniel fumblingly wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his blazer, and with a grimace and a mutter, Marc hands him a tissue before he managed to smear snot all over his own arms.

And yet, Marc notes with a long-suffering sigh, he still thought Nathaniel looked cute— puffy eyes and snot and all. He had it _bad_.

He hadn’t even realized his crush had gotten to this point, but, well. It has.

He was fucked.

“I dedicate my life to the gay agenda, and _this_ is the thanks I get?” Marc demands in the closest approximation of iconic offended resignation, only to trigger a peal of giggles from the redhead. “Listen, if you die because you laughed too hard at my stellar gay jokes, I will _not_ be held accountable.”

“W-will you go t-to my funeral?” Nathaniel asks, much too brightly for a boy who’d nearly choked on his own spit from uncontrollable laughter.

“Didn’t we go over this earlier? I’d write your eulogy.”

“Ah, r-right,” the other snorts, grinning dumbly, all wide and toothy. It was a charming expression, Marc notes with fond exasperation. “Your bitchin’ eulogy skills.”

“Yes,” Marc sighs, smiling in spite of himself at his dumbass friend, smile no doubt grossly fond and gooey.

He couldn’t help it, either. He was useless against Nathaniel’s dorky charm.

“So…” Nathaniel starts, finally seemingly able to breath properly once more. “Did it work?”

He eyes the other warily. “Work…?”

“My inspirational statement,” Nathaniel states, quite seriously, smirking in a completely infuriating way.

“You call _that_ an inspirational statement?!” he demands in a hiss, all the while Nathaniel snickers evilly. “I told you to tell me something to inspire me to write! Not—not whatever the hell _that_ was.”

“I mean. I _personally_ think it was pretty inspiring,” the redhead says innocently, blinking his big blue eyes. The overall effect was ruined by his sheer cheek.

“It might’ve been for you…!” Marc retorts. He plays up his offense by placing a hand on his chest like an aghast French noblewoman. “But I asked for inspiration, not a _threat_.”

“Hey, it’s still motivational, right?” Nathaniel snickers, propping his elbow on the table and leaning in close again. Marc feels his heart trip in his chest once more. If Nathaniel keeps this up, Marc might just need to go see a specialist or something; his heart doing non-stop frantic gymnastics probably wasn’t healthy. “And besides, if you just do what I said, you wouldn’t have to worry.”

“You’re the reason I’m a Professional Heterophobe,” Marc deadpans, which earns a bark of laughter from the other.

“Impossible. I’m bi,” Nathaniel says, so casually light and flippant, it felt impossibly fake. The slight tightening of his smile and the way he tapped his fingers restlessly on his arm only cemented this. “S-so. We’re actually gay solidarity.”

“Right,” Marc manages to say, mind whirring a mile a minute.

This didn’t mean anything. It _didn’t_. Just because Nathaniel is bi doesn’t mean he’ll like Marc back.

But.

It’s _possible_ , however slight. And the chances are definitely higher than they were before, when Nathaniel had just been straight. Or not out of the closet yet.

The redhead’s entire posture has turned tense, fingers tapping quicker against his arm. He’s looking at Marc, cautious, gauging.

As if Nathaniel would ever have to be afraid of _Marc_ , of all people. He was probably one of the most blatantly gay people at school, out and proud of it. He was also someone so ridiculously in love with Nathaniel Kurtzberg, he would never turn his back on him.

“Gay solidarity can only take you so far,” Marc starts, wagging a finger jokingly at Nathaniel. “You’re on thin ice for testing me, mister.”

Marc grins, trying for something casual and playful. The beaming smile he gets in return outstrips him a thousand times over.

“We’ll see,” Nathaniel replies, rather cryptically, but his smile isn’t dimmed at all by his vagueness. He shoves his bangs behind his ear, as he says, “Now, who’re we choosing to fake their death for later?”

“Mightillustrator, so Reverser can write his eulogy,” Marc suggests, half-joking, only to get a warm laugh and even warmer smile from the other boy.

“Can’t wait to draw it,” Nathaniel says softly, grabbing onto Marc’s right hand and squeezing it. Marc feels his breath catch, hand tingling from the points of contact. “And I can’t wait to read what you write about it.”

With the way Nathaniel’s looking at him—shy, blue eyes peering through his lashes—Marc lets himself smile shyly back and think, maybe… just maybe… the possibility isn’t as farfetched as he’s been thinking. Him and Nathaniel. As partners, and _partners_.

“I can’t wait either,” Marc replies, voice just as soft. It’s as if neither one wants to speak too loudly, to not break the moment, somehow.

Marc turns his hand over, threading his fingers with Nathaniel’s, and squeezes them together. Black-painted nails and black fingerless gloves settling perfectly together with a pale hand with bitten-off nails and wayward pen doodles on the knuckles and the palm lightly stained with paint.

Nathaniel ducks his head slightly, ears pink and smile wide enough to split his face.

Marc has to let go after a few seconds to pick up his pen and ready himself to write—he’s not ambidextrous as Nathaniel is, the talented bastard—but it doesn’t seem to matter. Nathaniel instantly scoots over on the bench, pressing their sides together, shoulders and elbows and thighs firmly connected.

Marc twirls his pen in his hand, looks over to beam at Nathaniel—who beams back—and then opens his notebook.

He feels like he won’t be able to write fast enough to capture all he’s feeling, this swell of emotions. Overwhelming joy, sweet fondness, a burst of giddiness, confused disbelief, a flutter of embarrassment, steady hope, and heart-thumping love.

He’s perfectly inspired, now.

So he puts his pen to paper, and writes.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Marc: I don't think Nathaniel will ever like me back :'(  
> Nathaniel: [literally goes out of his way to meet with Marc after school every day, loves hanging out with him and having weird discussions, makes constant teasing banter, draws Marc lovingly in his sketchbook, pretty much gets heart eyes when Marc reveals he writes about him, flirts with Marc multiple times, nearly kisses him, and all but confesses to him while grabbing his hand]  
> Marc: Okay so maybe I was wrong?????


End file.
